


Do You Wanna Dance?

by Moon_Called



Category: Dexter (TV), Oz (TV)
Genre: Crossover, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-19
Updated: 2018-03-19
Packaged: 2019-04-04 12:16:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14020041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moon_Called/pseuds/Moon_Called
Summary: One serial killer gets away from Dexter.





	Do You Wanna Dance?

**Author's Note:**

> This was my 2009 _Oz "Gift of the Magi"_ story for **Nindevotee** at Live Journal. It was Wish# 4, a Chris Keller/Dexter Morgan pairing with the prompt "Keller proves to be too crafty for Dexter" and Special Request# 1, "One serial Killer gets away from Dexter." 
> 
> The show _Dexter_ , and the characters, belongs to Showtime. The show _Oz_ , and the characters, belong to HBO and Tom Fontana. Used for entertainment, not profit.
> 
> The notion of Chris Keller's _Dark God_ is from my imagination.

__

 

_My sister Deb was the only permanent fixture in my life long before Rita and the kids became so ... important to me. For many years before his death our father Harry was the Sun we revolved around. We both craved his attention even though we knew we had his love unconditionally. Well, 'I' knew that, but Deb had, and has, reasonable doubt. I will agree that my sister is partially justified in her feelings. Harry 'did' neglect her in order to spend time with me, but not because he loved me more or loved me best. Deb is wrong about Dad, but I can never tell her that. It's easier to witness and live with her angst and low self-esteem than to have her know 'why' Dad spent so much time with me. Dad spent time with me because he knew I was a serial killer._

_Harry Morgan was a damn good cop, and he shared his vast experience with me. He taught me about police investigations. He taught me about evidentiary procedure. He taught me about crime scenes. He taught me about the merits of a good pair of gloves. He taught me that plastic was my friend. He taught me how to survive. Harry gave me a code to live by--a ritual. I'm a monster, but I'm a monster with standards. I only kill other monsters like me, but not until I'm sure of their guilt. Even though I'm 99.9 percent sure before investigating them, I still have to follow Harry's Code._

_Nobody had to teach me how to spot a predator. Some people are sensitive enough to detect evil, but half of them dismiss it as something else. These people shiver and hug themselves or break out in a cold sweat, and then ignore their instincts and the cold certainly that the man or woman who just passed by would cut out their heart without blinking. Most people either can't or just refuse to see evil, even when it says 'good morning' and offers them a donut at the precinct. I think Deb is one of these people and one day it might get her killed. It nearly did, when my biological brother, Brian, came into our lives._

_Deb's need to win Harry's love and attention has driven her throughout her life. That's why she became a cop. The same need, and her partially justified resentment of Harry's neglect, drove Deb to sexual promiscuity when she was a teenager, and drives her to make some bad choices in men as an adult._

"So, what does this guy do?"

Deb squirmed in her seat like a kid. "He's one of the bouncers at _Chaps_. I met him the other night."

"You're dating one of the murder suspects from that gay dance club?"

"Oh, like I'd be _that_ stupid. No, Bro ... we cleared this guy."

Rita, looking pretty and perfect in a green dress, giggled. "Does 'this guy' actually have a name?"

Deb bobbed her head from side to side. "D'uh, I'm such a spaz! His name is Chris Keller and let me tell you, the man is a stone babe with some mad skills in the sack!"

 _Unbelievable._ "Too much information! I'm not really interested in my sister's sex life."

"I tell you about my sex life all the time."

 _I gave her a pointed look._ "Exactly, and every time you do I tell you the same thing. I don't wanna hear it."

_Deb's boyfriend had chosen the restaurant. Puerto Sagua was a Cuban restaurant on Collins Avenue in South Beach with good home-style food, if the Puerco Fritas appetizer we'd ordered--chunks of fried pork and onion on a bed of lettuce with vinaigrette dressing--was any indication. Although it was a rare cool December evening on the beach, we'd chosen a table on the sidewalk patio instead of one inside so we could people watch. Rita and I sat facing the beach road and Deb sat across from us with an empty chair beside her._

"This guy ... I mean, Chris was a suspect in a murder investigation? Has it been on the news?" Rita asked.

"Yeah, a male college student left _Chaps_ around 1:30 am and disappeared. They found what was left of his body in Everglades National Park. Some sick fuck raped and tortured him before blowing his brains out." Deb leaned over the table. "This is the third fucking one since Thanksgiving," she whispered."

 _That caught my attention._ "What ... another serial killer?"

A shadow passed over Deb's face, but she shrugged it off. "It looks like it."

_Yes!_

"And look, before Chris gets here I just wanna say," she paused and looked from me to Rita and back. "Thanks for coming to dinner with us."

"Well, you've been dating this guy for about a week now. In 'Deb time' that means you must be ready to pick out your wedding china."

"Fuck you!" Deb bobbed her head and took a big slurp of her mojito.

"Mojito, huh? That's new."

"Yeah, Chris turned me on to them. Oh my God, he has the coolest fucking tattoo on his arm. It's a floating Christ image. I mean, you have _got_ to see this thing."

_We were distracted by the purr of a well-tuned engine as a motorcycle pulled into a space about twenty feet away from us. The rider, dressed from head to toe in black leather, straddled the bike and engaged the kickstand. He got off the bike and removed his helmet, then he looked toward our table._

"Here he is!"

_Deb raced down the sidewalk and threw her arms around the man's neck, then hopped up and wrapped both legs around his waist. He spread his legs for balance and pulled her against his body in a one-arm hug that caused a waiter carrying a tray to bump into our table, nearly spilling a glass of water on my head. Deb slid her legs down until her feet were back on the ground. Once they started walking up the walk to our table a rush of adrenaline shot through me. The man didn't walk--he swaggered, in a hip-rolling gait that suggested sexual prowess, among other things. Did I just hear Rita whisper "Oh my?" I glanced over at her face. Her cheeks were flushed pink, her eyes were bright, and her breathing hitched. Damn ... this guy is good. The people seated at the tables to our left stopped eating or talking and watched him. He moved with the confident grace of a trained fighter. His eyes met mine and locked onto them, and all of my alarms pinged ... he recognized me too. I couldn't help smiling. This could be interesting._

He and Deb sat down. "You must be Dexter."

"You must be Chris."

"I hope you like the restaurant. Deb told me how much you love good Cuban food. So ... here we are."

"Yep, here we are."

_We stared at each other, monster to monster, for a long moment without blinking. The rest of the evening passed in a blur of color and noise._

**********************************************

_I tailed Chris Keller for three weeks, learning his habits. He wore all black at work too--black dress pants and a black tee shirt. Every two hours he came outside for fresh air, probably on his break. He paced up and down in front of the club and looked into the night. Like any highly skilled monster, he knew someone was stalking him, and he didn't like it. I wouldn't either._

_One day during the third week I came home to find my slide case on the desk with a small piece of paper taped to it. It was a note._

**"I've been getting so much attention from you,**

**I thought I'd return the favor. Do you really**

**wanna dance with me, Dexter?"**

_Two days later, I tailed him to a remote location. There was a young man in his passenger seat. I would have loved to watch him work, but I remained hidden off the road and waited for him to leave. Two hours later, he left without his passenger. I tailed him 35 miles to the Everglades National Park, and then I went home. I had a murder of my own to plan._

*************************************************

_I heard someone calling my name as the world slowly slipped back into fuzzy focus. I was on a bed ... my bed ... in my bedroom. I tried to move a hand to my face, but the hand wouldn't move, neither one. I tried my legs and found that my feet were immobile as well. I was also completely naked. This couldn't be good._

"Welcome back, Dex."

_Chris Keller's voice ... I was right, this wasn't good. I turned my head and looked at him. He wore nothing but a pair of jeans, sitting in a chair to the right of the bed with one bare foot propped on the seat. He held a black Desert Eagle Mark XIX in his right hand against his leg ... I wonder if it takes a .357 or .44 magnum clip ... focus Dexter._

"Is that a .357 or a .44?"

He raised the gun and looked at it. "It's a .44."

"Isn't that a bit of an overstatement?"

He smiled. "Why do it if you can't do it big?" He closed his eyes and rubbed the handgun barrel against his temple. "What am I gonna do with you, Dexter?"

 _Is he serious?_ "Probably the same thing I was gonna do to you."

"Why? Is it a territorial thing?"

"No, it's an 'ethics' thing. I have a code."

_He laughed, long and hard. When he looked at me again, Chris Keller wasn't alone. Something else looked out through his cold sapphire-blue eyes at me as well. He put the gun down and straddled my hips. I could feel his erection._

"I tell you what, Dex. I'll show you mine if you show me yours."

_Somehow I knew he wasn't talking about cocks._

He leaned down, his eyes an inch away from mine, and whispered. "The Dark God wants to come out and play with you for awhile. Do you mind?" He brushed his lips against mine. His tongue moved in a wet caress against my top lip. He sat up and turned his left shoulder so I could see the tattoo on his arm.

_The Dark God ... interesting._

"What do you call yours?"

 _The Dark Passenger._ "The Dark Passenger."

He paused and looked at me, and perhaps at something else in my eyes. "Nice to meet you," he said with a wry smile.

_He sealed his mouth against mine in a passionate kiss, with all the raw power and intensity I'd always been afraid to show to anyone except Rita. Two monsters, face to face. It was all so ... exhilarating. But still ... I twisted my mouth away._

"I'm not gay."

He laughed deep in his chest then stood up and removed his pants. "Neither am I, but I've always been partial to redheads."

 _He's not gay?_ "Is that why you kill gay men?"

"I don't wanna talk about that."

_He aligned his body with mine--legs, groin, chest, and arms. He's taller than me, so our faces weren't exactly in sync, but that didn't slow him down. He nuzzled my neck and sucked at a spot of skin over my carotid artery. Then he moved down my chest, his mouth leaving a warm trail in its wake. I didn't know that male nipples could respond like this. He nuzzled the hair on my stomach, making my toes curl. Did I just moan?_

_He took his time, licking the skin around my cock and balls first. Then he palmed my balls, stretching them, massaging them, making me squirm. He raised his head and looked up at me with heavy-lidded, wicked eyes. I was hard. How could I be hard? Is it the sex or knowing that he's going to kill me after the sex? Death doesn't scare me. I've always been rather ... curious about death._

_His hot wet tongue brought me back to the sex. The slick organ moved against the head of my cock in teasing flicks and flat, wide swipes. I have to press my lips together to keep from moaning aloud. The moan rattled deep in my chest anyway, and I felt his lips stretch in a smile. Then his head bobbed up and down with a suction Rita could never duplicate. My hips move off the bed to his rhythm. After long, agonizing minutes of intense pleasure, my cum shot deep down his throat. He sucked in hard pulls until I had nothing left to give. He wiggled the tip of his tongue in the slit to get the last drop. I collapsed back against the bed and waited for him to finish, to plunge his cock into my ass, to make me bleed ... but he pulled away instead and started dressing._

"You're not gonna kill me?"

"Why should I? Miami's too humid anyway ... it's time to move on."

 _In other words, he owned me now and didn't consider me a threat. Oh that is 'so' not going to happen._ "You don't own me."

He pulled a knife from his pants pocket and a five-inch blade swished into place. He pricked his finger and held it over a clean slide, letting a drop fall onto the surface before pressing another slide against it.

"Now we own each other. Let's call it a stalemate." He smiled. "Our dicks are equal ... figuratively speaking, because you're packing some serious shit, my man."

He walked over to the bed and cut my right hand free. Then he stuck the knife two-inches deep into the head board and backed away.

"Oh and one last thing, you should get that sister of yours to a shrink. If she won't go on her own, drop a dime on her at the precinct. Deb is one magnificent piece of ass, but she's looking for the big 'D' and one day she's going to find it. She just sings with it. Lucky for her, and you, she's not my type." He winked at me and then turned and walked through the apartment and out the door.

_Chris Keller owned me in a way that I will never own him. He swallowed my seed, absorbing a part of my essence, a part of me. In return, he gave me a drop of his blood on a glass slide. Somehow, that just seems too sterile, too detached ... and not nearly enough._


End file.
